Famliair Stranger
by CrystallineSolid
Summary: After Warrick’s death, Nick discovers a new side of Greg—wise, dependable and something else—something Nick is almost afraid of. PostFor Warrick. Nick/Greg friendship.


Title: Familiar Stranger.

Summary: After Warrick's death, Nick discovers a new side of Greg—wise, dependable and something else—something Nick is almost afraid of.

Characters: Nick Stokes, Greg Sanders

Rating: T

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst

Spoilers: Post For Warrick

Disclaimer: I don't own anything…

Author's note: I have discovered a sudden love for stories revolving around For Warrick. Anyway, this is what happens when I'm riding a horse and have no idea what to do but eat wild strawberries.  


* * *

  
Nick grit his teeth and aimed. The gun felt heavy and cold in his hand, and slick with sweat. Mckeen's gaze was hard, and when Nick looked deeper, fearful. His hand quivered and he tightened his hold on the revolver. He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. Already having estimated his shot, he wasn't surprised when he saw Mckeen's fingers pressed frantically against his neck. Nick didn't move to help. He watched though, as blood spluttered from between the under sheriff's fingers.

"You're not shooting him so don't pretend you are," said a distantly familiar voice from behind him.

Nick started and blinked rapidly. His vision cleared and his jaw set, his eyes fixed on the bullet embedded in the target board, burning through the plastic neck.

"I should have shot him," he said, his voice faltering as he lowered the still steaming gun. "Maybe I would feel better."

The person behind him let out a short, guttural laugh, that made Nick wonder if it was who Nick thought it was. "I know from experience that it wouldn't have. Trust me."

"We could have gotten him justice!" Nick hissed angrily. He still didn't turn around though. He didn't dare to. Something in the familiar stranger's voice—the hardness—made Nick think that the voice's face wouldn't be so void of emotion. It would surprise him if it was. Then again he never thought that his friend, someone so full of life, would sound so—defeated? Hardened? He wasn't sure.

"There is no justice Nick," said the same grave hiss. "Walter Gordon died before you were recued Nick. But you still had nightmares didn't you? Did you get justice Nick? Will you ever get justice?"

Nick swallowed heavily, still not daring to face the seemingly wiser person. An eternity seemed to pass. Nick turned his head sideways, almost giving his addresser a sidelong glance. His head snapped back to the target, and his heartbeat in his ears seemed to drown out the heavy breathing behind him.

"Shift starts in twenty minutes. I'll tell Grissom you're alarm clock didn't ring. Calm down, and get to work in an hour."

Nick heard the door open and close and he was alone once again in the shooting gallery. He turned around and closed his eyes, imagining that he had had the courage to meet his conversationalist face on.  


* * *

  
Greg collapsed on to the locker-room bench and rubbed his sleep-deprived eyes. The rest of the team had left after processing Warrick's…thing. He had stayed though, too overwhelmed to go home to only a six-pack and daytime television. He hadn't had more than two hours of sleep since Gedda died and that had been what a day ago? Not to mention the four hours he spent on the plane to LA and back. He was terribly exhausted, and yet he knew that he wouldn't get any sleep.

Fighting off a headache, he stood and stretched, raising his arms far above his head. Shift began in ten minutes, and he started towards the break room, wishing that Grissom would let him work a solo—just so that he wouldn't have to work with anyone from the team.

Grissom and Catherine were at the break-room table, staring at the two empty seats. Groaning Greg realized that he had spent more time in the locker room than he had thought.

"Sorry I'm late," he said slipping into his seat.

"Nick's still not here. He didn't say that he wasn't coming in today," replied Grissom thoughtfully. "Catherine could you call him and ask?" he said reluctantly, as though only asking because it was protocol."

"Okay," said Catherine, as though she had only just joined the conversation. "Uh…what should I tell him?"

Greg could tell that she was covering up for zoning out. Grissom shot her a look, explaining roughly—eyes narrowed in confusion and suspicion.

"Yeah okay," Catherine flicked a strand of strawberry blond hair out of her eyes, looking more confident. "I'm on it."

"Assignments first," said Grissom, and Greg was amazed at how normal his voice sounded. He really wished that he could do that.

"Uh…Nick is…" Greg cleared his throat and tried to sound more certain. "His alarm clock didn't ring. He should be here in thirty minutes."

He looked away awkwardly, and squeezed his eyes shut when he felt the team's eyes on the back of his head. He swallowed heavily, only half hoping that the team wouldn't see through his lie.  


* * *

_You cut me down to size  
And opened up my eyes  
Made me realize  
What I could not see  
_--Swallowed In The Sea, Coldplay.


End file.
